The plan was to go to the movies, but after looking at all the boring choices on the marquee, we agreed there was nothing worth wasting time on, which is how we ended up back at Lucas’s apartment with pizza, wine, and Friday the 13^th—the original—streaming on Netflix.

I can almost believe this is just a normal night with my non-billionaire boyfriend, except that the signs of his obscene wealth are everywhere. This is not your average take-out, but gourmet pizza, delivered from the west side of town, still piping hot. The wine is vintage, plucked from the winery Lucas co-owns with his former business partners, and couriered straight from Napa Valley this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Lucas has shares in Netflix.

“This is such a B grade flick.” He takes a giant bite of Hawaiian pizza—pineapples flown in from the tropics, of course—and gestures toward the giant screen TV. “I don’t understand why people are so enamored with it.”

I tuck my feet up under my buttocks. “Seriously? It’s a classic.”

My tastes may veer toward the literary greats when it comes to books, but I’m all about unabashed pop fiction movies. Friday the 13^th is one of five films I watch at least once a year, ranking just below The Princess Bride. That’s a no brainer #1 for me. I’m working our way up to that one.

Lucas shakes his first at the screen. “Stupid movie person, don’t go that way.” He leans forward and yells. “You’re going to die!”

I shift so that he can put his arm around me and laugh. “They’re just following the script, babe.”

“I like when you call me that.” He pulls me close and then his lips are on mine. After a moment, he pulls away, then kisses my throat, and moves his mouth down along my collarbone. As always, the soft brush of his lips against my skin shifts me off kilter. I give my head a shake and refocus, not quite ready to give in to lust.

His hand slips under the silk shirt of my nightie to cup my breast.

We kiss for what seems like forever. I suck on Lucas’s tongue—which I know turns him on—and he responds by massaging my breasts.

I stretch out under him.

I’m getting better at trying new things, which is both fascinating and terrifying too. It still surprises me how wanton I’ve become in his presence.

Lucas slides his hand under my nightgown and between my legs. His palm expertly cups me hard enough to force out a gasp. In the next instant, he’s pushed his fingers inside my pussy. He slides in, out and in, rhythmic against my slick heat. “Jesus, you’re wet.”

I’m not shocked.

Lucas can look at me from across the room, no words needed, and I get damn aroused. One glance and I’m weak-kneed and trembling at the thought of his touch.

The TV remote falls to the floor, narrowly missing his foot. I put both hands on his chest, bunching his T-shirt up under my fingers. I push at him, but his hand is on the small of my back, holding me still.

He slides his fingers deeper until his thumb presses against my clit. His teeth take the place of a whisper, fierce against the tender skin of my throat. I tip my head back. And now my fingers clutch his shirt not to push him away, but to keep myself from falling backward. Not that Lucas would let me.

After all these months, he’s still protecting me, my sweet knight in shining armor, fiercely taking care of his damsel in distress.

“So. Fucking. Wet,” he breathes into my ear. His hand moves faster, and then without warning, he adds another finger, stretching my pussy wide. His thumb strokes, while his fingers fuck. Sweet Jesus, I know I will never grow tired of this.

He pulls out abruptly and I suck back a weak cry of protest. It’s to no avail. As expertly as he navigates my pussy with his hands, I know that Lucas prefers to use his mouth—or his cock. It’s more personal, more intimate, he would say.

He hesitates before taking off his shirt. “We don’t have to do this…”

A smile curls my lip up. “Have sex?”

He dips his head shyly. “I just don’t want you to think that this is all our relationship is about.”

It’s cute that he’s worried, but it’s actually the least of my concerns. “You bought a paper for me…” And made me Editor-in-Chief, a title I may not have deserved at the beginning, but certainly have earned now. “And anyway, last night we just cuddled.” Mostly. I may have given him a hand job.

With a grin, he strips out of his T-shirt, then tugs the button loose on his jeans. Licking his lips, he slides the zipper down, notch by notch without disconnecting our gaze. Fuck me, that’s hot.

Everything about Lucas is breathtaking, and when we’re together, I melt, easily succumbing to his soft commands.

He wears no briefs tonight. He pushes his jeans down around his ankles, and kicks them off. His hard cock springs upright, and it’s all I can do not to stare.

“Your turn, darlin’,” he says.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of my panties and shimmy them over my hips, then part my legs to reveal my pussy, reveling in this way his eyes flash with desire. His stare is electric. I dip my fingers between my legs and tug lightly on my clit.

“Do you want me to eat you?”

Always.

But that isn’t what I crave tonight. “I want you inside me.”

My gaze drops to his crotch. His cock is in his fist, growing harder, impossibly longer and thicker. It’s true that I’ve not been with many lovers or seen many dicks up close, but Lucas’s…I’m sure I could pick his of a crowd. I know every inch of his body almost as well as I know my own.

Moving closer, he kneels between my legs to rub his cock along the seam of my pussy, up and over my clit again and again, until I fall back on the sofa, legs splayed wide to urge him inside. He teases me with the tip of penis, his hands planted beside my head, hips barely thrusting. Slick, flesh on flesh. Christ, I want him to fill me.

When at last he begins to move, my hands go above my head, palm to palm, fingers linked. I give in to the pleasure of him rocking his cock against me. I lose myself in it, this pleasure, this incomprehensible joy. And without warning, before I can prepare him for my release, I come in slow, rolling waves.

I cry out, not caring if the windows are open, whether my screams echo through the city streets and all across the world. I want them all to hear how Lucas satisfies me.

Over and over, I rise and crest and dip. And over and over he takes my body to new heights until I fear I might pass out, or die. Yes, I could die right now with Lucas making me come.

When the shaking of my body finally eases and I can finally breathe again, I open my eyes. Lucas holds himself above me. The cords on his biceps stand out, pulse. His mouth has parted, slack, but his gaze is sharp and focused on my face. That look, it stabs me every time. Penetrating and fiercely intense.

Without putting a hand on his cock, he manages to find my opening and pushes himself inside. I groan at the way he fills me, still shocking after all this time. I move to touch him, but he mutters a command for me to stay still. I obey. He doesn’t move—he presses his lips together and waits.

“Lucas?”

“I’ve never known anyone like you, darlin’.”

I pull him closer, not meaning for it to turn sexual, but the motion pushes his cock deeper inside me. Lucas moans, and starts moving his hips. His hand is on my stomach, and he’s pumping me in a steady rhythm that allows the climax to build.

His words come back to me, low and sweet: we don’t have to have sex, darlin’.

Oh, but we do, because when Lucas is inside me, when our orgasms crest and we lay spent in bed, that’s when I allow the cocoon of safety to fully envelope me. I am a caterpillar, desperately crawling toward the light—and soon, my metamorphosis will be complete. I can’t wait to see who I become.

Under his care, I know it will be beautiful—a butterfly, wings out and ready to soar.

Lucas pumps hard, and I feel his come surge inside me. I clench my pussy lips against his cock, sucking in every last drop. He grunts, bites his lip, and rides out the spasming waves of pleasure until finally, blissfully, he gently pulls out, curls up naked next to me on the couch and gathers me in his arms.

“It’s like witchcraft, what you do to me darlin’,” he says, his voice groggy with a lack of energy.

I nestle into him and smile. “And here I was thinking you were the one with the impressive spell books.”

“Not anymore, Eden,” he says, sighing. “Not anymore.”

On the TV, Jason chops through another unsuspecting victim. Maybe I should flinch, but the truth is, the chaos churning in my stomach is far worse than any horror on the TV.

Because the most terrifying thing in the world is the thought of another broken heart, and I’ll do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen.